Author: carol anne

Change We Can Believe In? A Hawaiian Vacation for the President. No More Unemployment for You.

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The rich get richer, the poor get poorer and the middle class works harder to stay afloat. This is change we can believe in?

 

Good evening kids. I’m taking a break from chronicling my recovery to rant and rave about my favorite topic, politics. 

Me and the hubs caught colds over the Thanksgiving holiday so today was mostly spent on the couch watching CNN. It was a quiet day until I turned my attention to the ticker running at the bottom of the screen. It read, Obama may delay Hawaiian vacation over tax fight. 

*Kaboom*

You hear that? It’s the sound of my head exploding? Holy Mother of God! Are they kidding me? Seriously. Am I supposed to feel bad for him?

Just yesterday he announced a 2 year pay freeze for all civilian federal employees. Today 2 million unemployed Americans will begin losing their unemployment benefits if the Senate doesn’t vote to extend the federal extended benefits program. Oh and let’s not forget about those folks who have been unemployed for 99 weeks or longer, who no longer receive unemployment benefits and who the government no longer considers unemployed.

There are families losing their houses, families struggling to put food on the table, families who won’t be able to put gifts under the Christmas Tree this year and President Obama may have to delay his Hawaiian vacation? Seriously. Are they kidding me? I have no words for this. I wonder if he or Congress or the Senate have stopped to think just how many Americans could use a vacation? I wonder if any of them have stopped to think of the families that could use a break from the uncertainty and the fear? Will we be able to keep the house? Can we keep the bills paid? Should we take the kids out of parochial school and put them in public school? Should we try to sell the house? Will it sell? How do we keep afloat? 

As I stared at my TV screen in disbelief I wasn’t sure if I should be outraged or heartbroken. Maybe both? If the White House communications office wants this to be seen as a noble gesture they are seriously mistaken. Either President Obama and his staff have not one ounce of political savvy or they just don’t care how it looks to the millions of Americans just trying to make ends meet. 

The theme of many of President Obama’s speeches both as a candidate and as president has been sacrifice. I’m curious. What is it that he and his family have sacrificed?

Write, He Said (Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery) — Photos from the Journey

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Hey! Good evening kids. I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. It’s been a few days since I’ve checked in. Since last we spoke I’ve been asked to write a blog for Cooper’s Living Proof blog,  finished reading two books (Mini Shopaholic, Two for the Dough), had an appointment with the plastic surgeon (I’m doing well), and tried duck for the first time.  It’s been a good 8 days. My anxiety isn’t as bad and my recovery is progressing nicely. 

Today’s blog is a photographic look at my daily walk. As part of my discharge orders I was tasked with taking a daily walk. I thought a photo project would be a nice companion to the written project. This first installment features photos taken with my iPhone. As my walks get longer perhaps the photos will get more interesting.

 

November 10, 2010

November 11, 2010

November 18, 2010

November 19, 2010

Write, He Said (Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery) — My Amazing Family

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I told you two days ago that I’d be back to tell you about my amazing family. I’m sorry I didn’t get back here yesterday. I had a morning appointment with the plastic surgeon to have the sutures removed and then spent the day at mom’s house.

This one is hard to write. How do you put into words how much you love and appreciate those closest to you? Thank you just doesn’t seem enough to express my gratitude. I woke up from surgery surrounded by everyone I love and everyone who loves me. How do you say thank you to the folks who were there as the nurses removed the breathing tube? The people who were there urging me to breathe as so that the nurses would be able to remove the tube?

I never spent one day alone in the hospital or rehab. Someone was always there with me. They came in shifts; my parents during the day, Tommy and Arlene (my brother and sister-in-law) during the dinner hour, and Chuck (my husband) after work. Sometimes my room was full of the above mentioned cast of characters.

I’m so grateful they were all there for me, but I’m even more grateful they were there for each other. In particular I’m so glad they were there for Chuck. My parents always loved him like one of their own so I’ve no doubt they took good care of him during the days I don’t remember. I’m so grateful that Tommy and Arlene sat with him and kept him company.

There’s really a week of my life that I don’t remember and it’s comforting to know that my loved ones were all there watching over me; my five guardian angels. I don’t remember the really and truly terrifying days. Chuck had to make tough and frightening decisions for me. In a way only Chuck, my parents and Tommy and Arlene suffered through them. It was much less scary for me because for all intents and purposes I slept through the worst of it. I’m glad they were all there together.

I couldn’t ask for more kind, loving, generous loved ones. It’s not just the heavy serious stuff that I’m thankful for either. It’s the seeming little things that mean so much.

Chuck spent all of Saturday at the hospital with me in Critical Care ICU. He went home, fed the cats, ate dinner, got my laptop and Netflix DVD, and drove back to the hospital to watch The American President with me. All so we could have some time alone together and so I wouldn’t be alone my first night really awake and alert in ICU.

My mom brought me German Potato Salad and carrot cake from the Cannstatter’s so that I’d have something yummy to eat.

My dad brought me soft pretzels because I asked for them. He brought enough for my nurses also.

My sister-in-law saw to it that I had all sorts of comfort items. She brought me a plush cat that sang What’s New Pussycat with a Padre Pie rosary/medal attached. I prayed that rosary or just ran my fingers over the beads whenever I felt anxious or scared. Every nurse who took care of me loved (as did I) the Halloween footies she bought me. I’m actually wearing them now. And I’m quite sure that I was the only patient at Cooper University Hospital with a lighted Tigger the Tiger Jack O’lantern.

Tommy could always be counted on to bring me a fresh bottle of Coke, which I hoarded so I’d have it all day.

Really, the stuff that doesn’t seem like much is in fact much. I hated the food in rehab. Every day my parents and Chuck brought me lunch and dinner. That’s five days worth of stopping for food, paying for food and taking the time to eat with me.

I can’t begin to say thanks. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Chuck’s taken so many days off from work to be with me so that I wouldn’t be afraid or alone (in and out of the hospital). My parents have rearranged their lives to spend time with me in the hospital, at rehab and at home. Tommy and Arlene came nightly at dinner time putting their own dinners off to spend time with me as well as calling, texting and messaging several times a day.

I am so loved and I am so grateful. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Love,

 

  ~ Carol Anne

Write, He Said (Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery) — I Share Because …

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I really hope my blogs don’t come off as whiny. (not that I can’t be a whiny bitch from time to time) I’m writing to express myself and perhaps put out there that which unfortunately lives in my head. I also hope that maybe someone who’s going through similar circumstances will benefit from reading. You know you always read about these fantastic people who fight so bravely and go on with daily life as though nothing has happened. Not everybody can do that. Certainly I can’t. I have moments where I’m not sure if I’m terrified or just sad.

You see these beautiful women who’ve lost their hair to breast cancer, they’re all dressed up and have makeup on and they’re just radiant with hope and faith and gratitude. They amaze me. I get out of bed and take a shower every day because my parents are coming or because I have a doctor’s appointment but most of all because it gives me some structure to follow some sort of a schedule every day. I don’t know how they do it. I have moments when all I can think is, “I’ll never be pretty again.”

When it comes right down to it I have no right to feel sorry for myself. (pity party, party of 1 your table’s ready) I’m so fortunate to be alive. God willing the radiation will get the cancer that was not removed during surgery and I’ll go on with my life and the worst it’ll mean for me is I’ll be bald. My real hair was never really nice to begin with.

Please don’t write me off as whiny or weak. In real life I’m neither. Right now I’m feeling small, lesser, I’m afraid. I’ll work on feeling sorry for myself. I hope you’ll keep reading while I do.

Love,

~ Carol Anne

Write, He Said (Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery) — Tired & Afraid

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*** Please note this post is not an indication of my not feeling good or that I’ve had a few bad days. In fact I feel great and thankfully I’ve had a string of really good days. ***

I wish I could tell you that I’m a brave patient. You know the one who soldiers on with a stiff upper lip, tons of resolve and a sunny disposition to boot? Yeah, I’m not that person.

It’s 6 weeks since my surgeries and I’ve grown weary of being “sick”. I don’t want to have to ask Chuck to do laundry for me or pick up something I’ve dropped. I don’t want to have to worry about being around too many people for fear of germs. I don’t want to face the stinkin’ kid who stared at me as mass let out last week.

I’m tired of being afraid. I had an episode (TIA) while I was in the hospital, that caused my mouth to droop and for me to be unable to speak correctly for a few minutes. There’s the possibility that it could never happen again and there’s the possibility that it could. I live in mortal terror that it will. Every twitch, every flinch, every everything terrifies me. My panicked thoughts immediately go to, “Is my mouth okay? Can I talk? Can I touch my nose with my eyes closed?”

I suffered from and battled a considerable amount of anxiety while I was in the hospital and the rehab. I was scared the dye from the CAT scan would cause an allergic reaction, I was afraid it would hurt or worse yet my head would bleed when they took the dressing off my head. I was afraid to be alone. Toward the end of my stay at Innova (rehab) I’d grown weary of the IV I received 3 times a day. I’d spend the half hour suffering, desperate to be unhooked again. I was even scared for the pic line to come out for fear that I’d bleed profusely from that artery now that I was on blood thinners. The more my health improved/improves the more I feared/fear something would/will happen to derail my progress.

It’s exhausting to live in fear that something is going to happen. It’s overwhelming when I think ahead to cancer treatments (radiation) and the unknown that lies ahead.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about my amazing family.